Surface Roots, Falling Leaves

Photo © 2024 Jennifer Wagner

 

 

The arms and hands

of my grandfathers, grandmothers—

 

the gnarled roots—

my history

 

a map on the earth

I step over

 

so as not to disturb them, leave them

as they are, unmarred by my boots.

                                                              

I’ve tried to clear them

so widely,

 

intending to be unencumbered

by what held them, too.

 

In my youth

I believed it could be so.

 

But now

I have walked a mile or two,

 

or how ever many thousands,

and my feet ache

 

with the heaviness

of trying.

 

The tripping, the falling,

the climbing back up.

 

But these I’ve been given

have led me to see,

 

and to sit basking

in the whispering of paper-thin leaves

 

teaching me how

to speak gently to myself

 

of forgiveness,

even more now my own necessity.

 

Because I am what I am

made of,

 

and my own stories

will fall, I hope,

 

like a gentle covering

for those who walk after me.

 

 

© 2024 Jennifer Wagner

 

dVerse oln

embrace

to forgive you

i had to go back,

bitterness falling like leaves

picking up stones,

gathering them

by the basketful—

my skin, arms, and back

riven and bloodied

with the buckling load

i’d intended to throw

with my calloused

and burning hands

but the sun on the leaves

that day in october

was so glorious,

and i felt so rich,

knew i was so rich, that

i laid the basket down

at your feet and

stretched out

my arms

bitterness falling, gently,

like leaves

© 2019 jennifer wagner

majestic poetics